Long Way
by illyna
Summary: Some things take time to work out. Haymitch / Effie through the years.
1. one to five

_******Long Way**_

******(one)**

Occasionally – usually when very drunk and being escorted back to his room - Haymitch Abernathy makes passes at Effie Trinket. It has become a game to him, to see how far he can push her before she snaps and walks away. He enjoys her annoyance; he likes to see that perfectly painted veneer shudder and crack, to see the real emotion boil in her pretty little Capitol blinkered eyes.

He shoves her forcibly against the wall, sliding one large hand up along her ribcage, pinning her with his hips. He can feel her heartbeats thrumming against the palm of his hand like a frightened rabbit. Half scared, half enraged, she wiggles against him to try and free herself. The movement feels good - soft and pliant, and he'd quite happily have her right there in the corridor.

He hisses, the sibilant sounds sliding around them both in the semi darkness.

"Want to come in for a nightcap, sweetheart?"

Stiletto heel meets shin and she's twisted out of his grasp and away. Her panicked, hitching breaths echo through his skull.

"I wouldn't touch you anyway you silly tart".

******(two)**

One night Effie Trinket comes back.

Haymitch opens the suite door, and she's there, a half empty bottle in one hand, lips stained red with wine. Before he can react she's inside, door slammed and locked in one swift moment.

Her kiss is hard and angry and demanding, fingers clawing at his shirt. She tastes of alcohol and regret. They make it as far as the living room before he bends her over the antique table. Buttons pop and silky fabric rips under his strength. He tears her precious Capitol clothing from her, taking pleasure at the flesh revealed.

She wears stockings and suspenders under the tight pencil skirt, and the image of her bent over so wantonly makes him crazy. As he thrusts into her his fingers curl into the ridiculous wig, tugging hard at the natural hair underneath. The moans fall from her lips unbidden.

"That's what you want is it, little slut? Want someone to tell you what to do for a change."

It is fast and messy and when its over they're both dazed. Effie is silent as she gathers the remains of her clothing together. Eyes studiously avoid one another – neither really want to face what's just happened.

Effie finds the discarded bottle of wine and downs the rest before leaving.

******(three)**

He fucking hates her, and her precious manners and scheduling, and the stupid clothes and her stupider face. She's perky and chipper and won't ever shut the hell up (unless he's kissing her).

******(four)**

She loathes him and his slovenly ways. He smells like he has not washed in days, and his fingernails are just disgusting (unless those big clever hands are on her body and then she's not complaining).

******(five)**

The screwing continues on a regular basis.

* * *

1/5 (hopefully) - please let me know what you think xx


	2. six to eleven

**(six)**

Haymitch is always blind drunk when they are together. It is easier that way to roll over as nothing just happened. It is easier not to look at her as she gathers the latest outfit he's shredded, hugging it to her chest. It is easier not to see the sadness etched on her face, the disappointment in herself again.

It must be a bitch, him messing up her perfect lifestyle by existing.

**(seven)**

Effie is always perfectly groomed when she arrives and Haymitch never strips her face and hair as he does her body. It is easier, she thinks, for him not to actually see the real her: not to view her as anything but a glorified sex doll. She is just grateful for something to hide behind.

He must love this - fucking the Capitol over in his own small way.

**(eight)**

Names have once again been drawn from the reaping ball by Effie's bejewelled hand. The families are saying their (last) goodbyes to this year's poor is already half way through the decanter of whiskey that he has managed to sneak of the train when he spots her. Orange hair, yellow suit, peach make-up – she looks like vomit and he wastes no time in telling her so. He already feels sick and the constant wailing is making it worse.

The cries are from the baby left in a pram in at the side of the corridor by one of the tributes' families. They didn't want to bring the poor thing in with them whilst they said goodbye to their daughter.

Effie peeks - poor little mite - and before he can stop her she's scooped the thing up in her arms. The baby stop crying immediately as she nestles him close to her chest, rocking and making soothing sounds.

"I think he is just tired." She tells Haymitch.

"Bloody hell woman, put it down before the family come out and think you're snatching another one of their children!"

He ignores the look of longing on her face as she tucks the little boy back into the pram. God-damn he doesn't want to start thinking of her as a human being (even if she is a natural with kids).

**(nine)**

Pink bows and glitter adorns the package she hands him – it is his birthday and all he wants to do to celebrate alone with a bottle. He hands it back unceremoniously.

"Come give it to me later."

He's particularly vicious with her that evening; a pinch here, a slap there. Bruises bloom easily under her alabaster skin but she doesn't cry out for mercy so he screws her harder. Afterwards, before the walk of shame back to her own room, she leans over and kisses him gently on the cheek.

Haymitch recoils, turns away, there is no space for warmth between them. "Don't do that."

She can't disguise the bite marks around her neck with powder. Flowers adorn her décolletage for the next week.

He opens the present months later when he finds it under the bed. It's a shirt and he actually likes it.

**(ten)**

"What a jerk." Haymitch exclaims. He isn't as pissed as he'd like to be as he trails Effie down yet another hotel corridor, yanking at the tie on his monkey suit.

She doesn't answer him, just keeps walking. She's wearing a sapphire blue gown onto which he has emptied most of a lime green cocktail. Shame, he think absently, she does look pretty in blue.

She reaches her room, stops, just looks at him with big sad eyes.

"Go away Haymitch," she says tiredly, resignedly. There is no fight in her this evening.

"Did that guy bother you?" Haymitch asks. She's no fun like this. "He was a prick anyway."

"No Haymitch, he was a nice man. A nice man who was going to take me on a date. A nice man who now will never want to see me again." She massages the tension in her forehead with her fingers.

Haymitch frowns, a far as he could see it looked just like another Capitol suit putting his hands all over Effie. She opens the door and he goes to follow her, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. She pushes him away.

"Not tonight."

She's never turned him away since they started this game, and he doesn't like it. The door shuts in his face.

"Screw you Effie Trinket!" he bellows through the door, and stumbles off down the corridor.

Inside Effie, alone and starved of tenderness, huddles on the small bathroom floor and sobs quietly into a towel.

**(eleven)**

Victors have a certain draw to them, even the drunken slobs, and when Haymitch Abernathy turns on his charm it can be quite deadly.

He's managed to secure the company of a buxom brunette this evening. Perfume surrounds him as Debbie... Dixie... Doria... someone leans forward to nibble at his earlobe.

"Shall we have another drink?" she hums in his ear. She's rubbing against him now, and his brain is getting a little fuzzy. He spots Effie talking to potential sponsors and shoots her a big, shit eating grin.

Arm held out, he escorts Dolly... Dani... to the bar. Perfect gentleman, he thinks to himself. He hopes Effie is watching this - not that he cares what she thinks.

(It's not like he wants to make her jealous or anything).

He takes Demi back to his hotel room and they fuck as loudly as possible. Effie's in the next room and he'd love to be keeping her awake.

Next morning he untangles himself from the bedsheets and kicks Darla out into the corridor. She's far too tall, some sort of giant.

"Do you want my number sweetie?"

He doesn't. He feels nauseated and goes to brush his teeth to remove the taste of whoever she was from his mouth.

* * *

_Hope you enjoy - please let me know what you think via review. xx_


	3. twelve to sixteen

**(twelve)**

"Do you have to be so rude all the time?"

"Do you have to be so fucking shrill? Just shut yer trap."

"Come on Haymitch, we need to leave."

"Are you thick woman? I've just told you I'm not going to this shindig. Me and this bottle are goin' to stay right here and have a little party of our own."

Effie stamped her heels impatiently and reached for the liquor. Haymitch shot her a look of pure loathing.

"Piss off."

"But the President..."

He waved his glass in her face angrily. "Bloody hell - just fuck off you stupid cow! I don't want to go. I don't give a flying shit about the dear President, he can go swivel as far as I am concerned."

"But..."

"And as for you, dear Miss Trinket, with your ugly get up with your uglier face – I don't want to go anywhere with you ever. You have as much wit as a bag of turds. You wonder why you're still alone and barren, you sad old spinster? It's because nobody can stand to be near you and your inane fake smile and your brainless chatter as you send kids off to their merry deaths."

Effie swallowed, turned away. "Oh."

Haymitch took a big swallow from his tumbler. "Yeah – and that's not all. You're getting fat. You disgust me."

She sucked in a big breath, "I am just going to go, now, then..."

He laughed her all the way out of the door, trying hard to ignore the tears in her eyes.

(What should it matter if her feelings are hurt? He doesn't want her.)

**(thirteen)**

Everything changes at the 74th Hunger Games.

Everything changes with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

Flaming costumes and declarations of love has given Twelve money to play with for the first time. People want these kids to win - they want to buy into the fairytale. For once there is hope and Effie clings onto it tightly.

The escort has painted herself a more grotesque mask than usual; war paint for the masses as she navigates the sponsors. She flirts, smiles and laughs in all the right places, hugging her notebook, trying to keep herself glued together. Falling back on what she knows what she was bred for: etiquette, manners, social niceties. She is exquisite.

(What should it matter what a filthy drunk thinks of her? She doesn't want him.)

Unfortunately she does need him.

Of course Haymitch is in the bar. He stares sullenly at her when she tries to convince him to go and see some sponsors – she's done all the hard work she says, he just has to sign the papers. He's not at all impressed at her desperate corporate whore routine, laughs in her face again.

She tries a new tactic.

"Please Haymitch."

She still can't look him in the eye.

But it works.

**(fourteen)**

Peeta and Katniss are declared joint victors.

It is an unheard of achievement and a triumph for love. Effie is so ecstatic for them she could burst. As a child she always loved stories with happy endings.

(She ignores the emptiness in her own chest. What good would it do anyway?)

**(fifteen)**

Effie has mostly been keeping her distance from Haymitch, covering it with tightly packed victor schedules and brusque orders. Her gazes look right through him; it is as if he has ceased to exist to her.

He saw her in the penthouse just after Katniss and Peeta won. She had pressed herself deep into the corner of her closet, face covered by hands streaked in a rainbow of tears. He didn't want to be seen, didn't want to deal with the hypocritical bitch. He was only in search of a drink after all – so he slunk off quickly.

(He is not sure why his stomach twists so wretchedly at the sight of her sobbing – probably because he doesn't want to see her without her slap on. She is probably hideously deformed under all of it.)

He demands a dance from her at the Capitol's Victory Ball. By the sour look on her face there was nothing she would rather do less, but she couldn't refuse in front of all the sponsors without looking like a fool. He is tired of being ignored – even if it was his own fault.

She lets him lead, staring fixedly at a point over his shoulder. He is not sure why he so bothered by her disconnection.

"So... we did it."

She peeks at him through scarlet lashes, lips twitch into a vague approximation of a smile.

"Yes we did – congratulations Mr Abernathy."

The music changes. Haymitch responds by twirling Effie around, dipping her towards the ground. Her hands slip up his arms, nails digging into the skin at the base of his neck until she realises he isn't going to drop her. He pulls her closer, running a hand over her spine. He can feel her trembling.

He leans, lips just brushing the soft skin by her jaw and whispers; "I know how to dance, Miss Trinket. I had a Victory Ball too."

The flush that rises in her cheeks can't be hidden by the powder. Her eyes are huge and vulnerable he feels intoxicated by her proximity. Haymitch smiles.

"Oh, of course, yes..." she stammers, "I knew that." Her fingernails remain twisted in the short hairs at his nape. He feels like purring.

"Truce?" He ventures.

Effie briefly meets his eyes again – looks away.

"Yes."

**(sixteen)**

"Haymitch Abernathy."

Effie shakes with repressed fury as she draws the names for the second Quarter Quell. She forces a big smile through gritted teeth and says the words demanded of her. Her insides feel like they have been liquidised, her whole world knocked off its axis. If her corset was not laced so tightly she thinks she would collapse right there on the stage.

Peeta - dear sweet Peeta - volunteers.

She can't bear to look at him, at them, at anyone. As soon as she is able she rips off her heels and runs back to the train. This time she's the one tearing apart the carriage for a bottle.

Haymitch has never seen her rant and rage at the Capitol so freely, never seen her so undone. It scares him a little – a woman in her position can't be heard saying such things. He's heard the stories, seen the Avoxes. It would be a damn waste for such a talented tongue to be ripped out.

"Calm down sweetheart."

She whirls, magnificent in her ire.

"Shut up you... you...!" She trails off at the look on his face – the one that says she's treading on dangerous ground. She slumps unladylike onto the sofa, head in hands, stockinged feet and legs covered in mud.

"It is just not fair. They were meant to live happily ever after. I need them to live happily ever after!"

He nods, patting her shoulder awkwardly, trying to comfort her.

Her voice is tiny and broken. "It is not a game – is it? You are right. I am stupid."

He slides next to her stiffly, continues to pet her. He's not sure what to do with this new enlightened Effie Trinket.

"It never has been a game," He tells her.

She grips his hand so fiercely as if to reassure herself he is still there. Her nails leave crescent moons of blood in their wake.

"It could have been you."

* * *

2, possibly 3 more to go :) Reviews are 3 x


	4. seventeen to twenty one

**(seventeen)**

Haymitch can read the signs in the clock arena the manipulations and plans are falling into place. Time is growing short and he needs to take his leave before it is too late.

Effie, resplendent in yellow, is perched next to him on the sofa scrawling notes on her ever present planner, nose wrinkled in concentration. They've reached an understanding of sorts these last few weeks. It has been almost pleasant, not being at each other's throats every second of the day, actually working as a team.

"I'm just popping out Princess."

He pauses briefly, unsure what to say or what to do. He takes her hand and kisses it gently.

"Goodbye, Effie."

She beams, surprised at the gesture, never taking her eyes off the screens in front of her.

"If you are behaving like a gentleman you have certainly had too much to drink already Haymitch. Go and clear your head. Katniss and Peeta are safe for now."

He doesn't look back.

**(eighteen)**

He sees her once on a Capitol transmission about the rebellion just after he arrives in Thirteen. She is in the background of a news article being thrown into a barred truck by Peacekeepers. Even though it is only a three second blurry shot of a woman in torn up Capitol fashion he knows its Effie from her stance and body. She's terrified.

His first thought is that he never knew her natural hair colour was strawberry blonde.

(His second is how could he have been so fucking stupid.)

**(nineteen)**

Effie doesn't know anything.

She never knew anything beyond her own suspicions about the rebellion. She has no information to give the Peacekeepers; she would have given them any knowledge she had to make the pain stop. Don't they realise that Haymitch thought her a simpleton - why would he have told her anything? She's a Capitol citizen. She tries to explain this to them -choking on her tears as they tear pieces from her shaking body.

That she was kept in the dark by Haymitch hurts even more than the whips, shocks and knives. Their relationship was strained and dysfunctional but she believed he had some sort of feeling for her. But no - she is worthless to both sides - neither Capitol or Rebellion wanting to claim her as their own, abandoned into this hellish limbo.

It is black and cold where they keep her and she can't stop shivering. She is not sure she cares so much about dying as long as it stops the hurt. When the guards next come to play she closes her eyes tight and forces herself to stop fighting them as they paw at her body and twist themselves inside of her.

There is nothing left of the fanciful façade she's cultivated all her life. She is stripped naked for all to see, plucked so clean and numb that she cannot even lie to herself any longer.

She cloaks her feverish mind in daydreams, lets herself feel all the things she's pushed down, away, hidden for so long. There is no point in not admitting inwardly what she feels, what she has felt for a long time - not when she's going to die anyway.

When her molesters finally leave she drags herself to the corner of her cell. She lulls herself to unconsciousness with vibrant fairytale images – of being a wife, of having a home.

Of being loved.

(Of children with red hair and seam grey eyes.)

**(twenty)**

Haymitch only just stops himself from punching Plutarch Heavensbee when he is told that Effie has been extracted from her Capitol cell alongside a number of others and is on her way to Thirteen as a political prisoner.

"Why didn't you tell me she was alive!" He roars, swiping the entire contents of Plutarch's desk onto the floor. Papers crunch under his feet as he advances on the shorter man.

"What's the problem here Haymitch? You hate the woman."

He sits in Plutarch's office a long time, head in hands, trying to put the relationship between him and Effie into words that the gamemaker can understand. In the end he gives up, shrugs.

"She's important to me, alright."

**(twenty-one)**

Light blinds her when she next opens her eyes. She is not in her cell under the Capitol any more. The pain is less but her skinny wrists and ankles are shackled to a bed-frame. There are several needles leading to drips in her hands, and her feet and arms are bandaged tightly.

Panic and confusion rise in her, her chest is tight and she feels she may choke. She wants to curl into a ball and cry, escape to her fantasies, away from this dull grey room.

(In her dreams she is bright and colourful and whole. In her dreams she is not defiled and alone).

A woman wearing a nurses tunic bustles into the room carrying a syringe of green liquid. Seing Effie awake she scowls brusquely.

"Where am I?" Her voice is low and cracked from lack of use.

"You're in Thirteen dear, in a medical ward. We're just fixing you up. You're healing well enough."

It takes a minute for Effie's sluggish brain to process this information – Thirteen? The rebels rescued her? Effie jangles her handcuff against the bed-frame, the small movement a struggle, "Can you unchain me?"

The nurse shifts uncomfortably, "That's not for me to decide." She injects the syringe into the cannula at the crook of Effie's elbow and shadows immediately whirl around her. She fights against it – she's been in the dark too long already.

The nurse adjusts the blankets around her. "Don't worry, I'm sure your husband will be along soon to explain everything. He's barely left your side since you've been brought in. Nasty temper on him though."

"Husband...?" Effie slurs before blackness claims her.

* * *

_Nearly there - thanks for your reviews - hope you are enjoying :)_


	5. twenty two to twenty six

**(twenty–two)**

Haymitch arrives at the same time as dinner. Broth again, this time with several dubious looking vegetables. Effie grabs for it with both hands. Her cuffs won't let her reach the table tray so she cradles the small bowl against her chest. The nurse nods at Haymitch as she leaves.

"She still thinks we are married," Effie mumbles through a mouthful of stew, waving her spoon at him accusingly.

Haymitch huffs, they've been through this a dozen times.

"They just sort of assumed it Eff, I told you this before. Besides it was the only way they'd let me in to see you. If it bothers you that much why don't you tell 'em."

She swallows, embarrased. "Guess I like the company."

"All right then."

They fall silent a while, Effie gnawing on the heel of bread that accompanied her meal. Most of the broth is already gone to Haymitch's surprise.

"What's happened to your manners, Miss Trinket?"

Effie looks abashed. She puts the bowl down and places the bread in it.

"Sorry. I am just so hungry."

Of course she's starving. Haymitch feels like kicking himself. Effie was petite to begin with, and has lost so much weight during her inprisonment that she looks like a child. The shape of her ribs are prominent through the thin gown, and the chains around her wrists dangle loosely. Resource driven Thirteen have calculated the exact amount of food to sustain a body, and certainly not enough to build someone up.

She pokes at the crust with a finger. Her words are quiet and he has to struggle to hear her.

"I never understood it before, people in the Districts being hungry. I never understood why the tributes stuffed themselves with so much food at the first opportunity." She picks up the bread again and nibbles on it tentatively. "I understand it now, Haymitch."

Haymitch pats her arm. He can feel all the bones beneath his fingers - she's so fragile.

"I'll go and see if I can get you something else to eat."

"No, please, leave it. I am fine Haymitch. Thank you though."

Haymitch frowns. "You need feeding up."

Her face flattens into something unreadable."I asked for more a few days ago. I was told no more food, you greedy Capitol bitch."

He's on his feet and storming out of the room before she realises what he's doing.

"Haymitch, wait..."

"Nobody speaks to my wife that way!"

**(twenty-three)**

Effie is vacant - staring blankly into space. She falls into these trances quite frequently and it scares Haymitch more than any of the physical damage her captors inflicted upon her. He knows how difficult a scarred psyche can be; how his own nightmares haunt him constantly.

He holds onto her, stroking her fingers until she comes back. He's not sure what he's meant to do - she was always the one who was good in tricky situtions.

"Did you have a flashback, a nightmare?" He asks gently.

She raises their intertwined fingers and presses her chapped lips to his knuckles.

"No, Haymitch. I have the best dreams."

**(twenty-four)**

Haymitch doesn't know when Effie started holding his hand at every opportunity, or why she's suddenly quite so affectionate toward him.

He feels he should try and stop it, but everytime he tries to tell her to back off she just smiles cryptically and carries on anyway.

(He tells himself that its not so bad; that he can probably bear it for a while if it's helping her heal).

**(twenty-five)**

Make-up surrounds her on all sides as she begins the ritual of painting on her Capitol face. Her hands are still clumsy, not yet fully recovered, but they seem to move on their own accord. Powder, shadow, liner. A little shading here to make her seem less gaunt, a gemstone there. A perfect mask covers her battered visage effortlessly.

Haymitch watches from the corner disapprovingly as she pulls the gold wig over her shorn head. They have rescued her an outfit from somewhere, it is bold and brash and hangs off her shrunken frame. She pins it tighter and wraps a belt around her waist.

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. I have to prove to Thirteen that I am loyal. I want to help Katniss. Now help do me up."

She motions to her corsetted back. Haymitch is all fingers and thumbs as he cinches her in. Cuts mar her pale back and its all he can do not to wince at the sight. Once he has finished the tight lacing he runs hand over the skin of her shoulder. He can feel the scars under his palm.

She pulls on the matching jacket and inspects herself in the mirror, wobbling a little in the heels. Gives herself an approving nod.

"Not bad. Passable at least."

Haymitch snorts. "You look ridiculous, woman."

"It is going to be a big, big, big day!" Her words echo around the room as she leaves.

**(twenty-six)**

Plutarch Heavensbee makes the announcement. There is going to be one final Hunger Games, with the reaping pool consisting of Capitol citizens.

Effie Trinket is informed that she has no choice in the matter. As atonement for her crimes the new regime has ordered her to return to the Capitol to set things in motion, to begin the next cycle of reapings, to send more to the arena. Who better to front the final Hunger Games than the rebel escort. After all – that's what she is now – another bloody symbol.

And then she finds out.

Haymitch actually gets knocked over from her first punch. He sits stupidly, staring at Effie's furious face as she kicks savagely at his legs Blood runs down his chin from a split lip.

"You bastard!"

He struggles to his feet, holds her slender form away from him easily as she squirms, clawing at his face.

"What's going on?"

She snarls at him fiercely. "I hate you. I fucking hate you."

He's confused as hell. "What have I done?"

Her response comes out as an angry hiss. "You. Voted. Yes."

She's stopped struggling in his grasp now and is looking at him with such hurt. His heart twists in his chest. Nobody was meant to know about the voting.

"Effie, what's going on?"

"I have to go back to the Capitol. I'm their little freak on a leash to parade around for the cameras. I have to run the reaping; I have to reap people I know. I have to have more blood on my hands. It is all happening again."

"You have to go back?" He repeats dumbly. "I didn't think..."

She's still shaking but all her rage has gone and replaced with defeat. Her gaze is vacant. She's already left him.

"I thought that you... that we..." Her voice is soft, on the edge of a sob. "I was wrong, you don't care about me at all. You have condemned me. I am never going to be free."

She leaves for the Capitol the next day. She doesn't say goodbye.

* * *

One more part to go I think... :) Reviews make me happy. Thanks for reading. Illy x


	6. twenty seven to thirty

**(twenty-six)**

Effie stays in the Capitol for three days.

She gathers what little supplies she can and wraps them in a blanket under her hotel room bed. She knows that this is foolishness on her part; that she is too weak still to really contemplate trying to escape. She also knows that she probably won't make it two blocks before the rebels find her and drag her back.

But she has to try. She's been chained up like a dog, _like a Capitol bitch_, all her life and she needs to at least try to get free.

The Capitol itself is a broken, blackened shell of what it was. With every breath she feels she is inhaling death. She knows it could be her own, but somehow, that's okay.

She's not sure where to go. There is nobody left in the world that means anything to her. Her Capitol friends think her a traitor. The rebels view her as a useful tool. Neither offer the sanctuary she craves. She wants to go home – but that doesn't exist anymore.

She contemplates Twelve, but her anger is still too strong; a fierce flame burning in her chest.

The night is cold and still when she slips down the fire escape, clutching her small bundle of belongings to her chest. No alarms sound - nobody chases her. She limps down the alleyway and decides to make her way to the station. She'll get on the first train she sees – get as far away as she can.

Bribery; the guards let in a goods carriage with several other refugees. She clamps her mouth tight, covers her face with her scarf, not wanting to be recognised, not wanting any trouble. Blanket around her, huddled against a wall, she lies and drifts away to her dreams as the train rumbles beneath her.

She's come a long way from the naive girl she once was and now she's going even further. She's not having a part in this madness anymore – she's made her choice.

**(twenty-seven)**

When Haymitch hears that Effie has dissapeared in the middle of the night he immediately fears the worst. She's always been so goddamned clueless about the world around her. Bumbling off on a whim in post war Panem is a good way to get a pretty lady dead right about now. And Effie Trinket, the rebel escort, is not just any woman.

His nightmares expand, vivid images of blood on pale skin, of wide blue eyes full of torment. He checks religiously for her name in the list of the dead printed in the morning papers.

Peeta and Katniss recieve a letter from her a few weeks later. She's alive, and more than that, she's doing okay. She doesn't say where she is. Haymitch can breathe again.

Peeta and Katniss receive more letters from her. They're newsy and upbeat, her crimped penmanship rushing over the page in excitement. Sometimes she includes little trinkets she has found – recipies for Peeta, photographs and pictures.

Haymitch never recieves a letter but he checks his mailbox everyday, just in case. He's not sure when Effie's safety came to mean to damned much to him.

He can never bring himself to ask the kids if she inquires after him. He's too scared of what the answer might be.

(She does ask for him in every single letter).

**(twenty-eight)**

A few months later Haymitch visits New Capitol on official government business, meeting with various officials and sitting through long, dull meetings. Night time has fallen by the time he is released. He knows he should head straight to the station, get the next train back to Twelve - but his feet have other ideas.

Effie's apartment. He's never been there before but for some reason he knows exactly where it is.

The heavy wooden door has been kicked in, lock smashed into several pieces. Chunks of plaster have fallen from the ceiling in all the rooms shaken loose by the nearby bombs. The resulting dust is cloying and Haymitch almost chokes as he moves further into the living room. One cerise wall is now completely open to the elements and wind and rain have soaked most of the furniture. Looters and squatters have raided the place and there isn't much left that hasn't been smashed or stripped. The stench of urine is overpowering. Tiny ornaments shatter to powder under his bootsteps as he moves deeper into the room.

Her bedroom is simple, walls painted white with dark wood furniture. Heavy drapes cover the floor length windows. There is no techology installed, no music system or viewscreen, only shelves and shelves of old fashioned paper books. There is an mahogany bereau against one wall, drawers wrenched open and contents spilled out. Hundreds of pages of Effie's elegant script have been torn out of her own journals to carpet the floor.

He finds a suitcase in the ransacked closet and starts to salvage what he can from the wreckage. A book here, a few pieces of jewellry there. He finds the remains of an old photograph album and wraps it in a silk nightgown. By her bed there is a picture of them both in a wooden frame at some sort of Capitol shindig– both smiling at the camera, his arm wrapped around her shoulder – they look almost happy.

He's never been allowed inside Effie's inner sanctum before and he doesn't recognise her personality in these things. He wonders what else he doesn't know about her.

He feels dirty rummaging through the remains of her life, violating what is left of her privacy. Being here feels strangely intimate. He tells himself it is the right thing to do - she will be glad that he saved some of her possessions when she comes back.

(If she ever comes back).

**(twenty-nine)**

Effie peeks through the brightly lit window at the domestic scene inside, stamping her feet inside her boots to keep warm. There is meat on the table, plates of vegetables and the divine smell of fresh bread.

Haymitch is slumped at the far end of the table, large hands cupped around a tumbler of wine. He looks tired, she thinks, but the lines etched on his face seem less deep then before, as if a weight has been lifted.

It is Peeta that spots her.

Twelve is bitter cold in winter and Effie is bundled in a green wool coat. Snowflakes cling to her copper hair and drip slowly down her face as she is ushered inside out of the darkness.

"Hello, sorry – I did not mean to intrude. Peeta, Katniss, it is so nice to see you..." She turns, voice cracking. "And you too... Haymitch."

Haymitch stares resolutely at his glass and says nothing. Peeta fills her plate with delicious food. He is ever the gentleman. They talk of the year or so that has passed since they were last together, where she has been, what they have been doing. She is pleased to see them together, and seeing Katniss's smile again lifts her.

Haymitch stays silent for the entire evening. Occasionally she finds him staring at her as if she is a curio, a freak. The way he used to look at her before everything went to hell.

It grows late. "You can stay at my house if you like Effie." Katniss offers, shrugging. "I'm rarely there anyway."

Effie rises, smiles her beaming smile; it doesn't seem false anymore without the garish make-up. She rises. "Thank you Katniss, but I have somewhere to stay."

Effie stops by Haymitch's chair and slowly runs a hand up over his shoulder, her fingers scratching gently at the nape of his neck. Physical touch activates something inside of him and he jerks around and collapses into her, wrapping two strong arms around her waist. He burrows his face into her stomach. She cradles him to her, stroking, soothing.

"It's okay, it's okay... it's all okay now."

It takes a few minutes but he gathers himself up, rubs at his face. He doesn't let go of Effie's waist.

"It's okay kids, she's coming home with me."

**(thirty)**

That night they make love on his grubby bedspread by moonlight, gentle and slow. Although the night is muted - for first time they actually see each other stripped bare – no fancy makeup or haze of alcohol. When he moves inside her it feels like coming home.

Tears glisten like pearls on Effie's cheeks. He wipes them away with a gentle hand. He feels like crying himself; something hard inside him seems to have melted away.

"I am that bad, huh Princess?"

She nuzzles into his neck. Her giggle ripples over him.

"Absolutely awful. Good job I am here to teach you."

She's exhausted, he can tell. She's already drowsy against his chest, and it occurs to him that this is the first time they have shared a bed. He finds it strangely comforting that she'll be there when he wakes up.

"You staying? In Twelve I mean?"

Her voice is small, muffled by the covers. "Yes, for now at least. If you'll have me."

He just hugs her closer and she curls herself around him. Her hair smells like pinecones and salt water and he wonders where she's been.

"Effie." He falters, unsure, the words feeling like treacle on his tongue. "I think I might be a little bit in love with you."

Effie hauls herself up on one elbow and gives him that look – the scolding one that she used in the past when he'd been particularly difficult.

"It took you long enough to catch up." She kisses him quick and hard.

"Sorry."

"Mmm, you're forgiven."

"You realise we're going to fight all the time?"

"Yes."

"It'll be fun making up though." He runs a hand up her bare thigh and her response is immediate.

* * *

Afterwards, spooned into his embrace, she asks him tentatively "Is it all over now?"

She's scared and probably always will be.

Haymitch strokes her hair, scoops her closer. He can feel her heartbeats thrumming against the palm of his hand like a frightened rabbit.

"No, sweetheart. For us it's just beginning."

* * *

**_Phew... made it, hope you enjoyed it! :) Please let me know what you thought x_**


End file.
